Confessions on Ice
by gigi2690
Summary: Flushed cheeks and furrowed brow outlined by silken dark curls rebelling ever so slightly against the moisture in the boreal air, Helena could not take her eyes off the sight of the beautiful woman some 60 feet below her position in the shadows at the back of the raised stairs. -Bering&Wells at an Ice Rink. Pre-Leena's death, not feeling morbid. Two-Parter. T for now


(Pre-Leena getting shot and all hell breaking loose – because I don't feel like being morbid)

The first ice skate was unearthed at the bottom of a lake in Switzerland, stone and animal bone dating back to 3,000 Before Christ. 5,000 years ago humankind sought to glide across the ice. An act that hadn't lost its appeal all these years later.

Glide, glide, spin. Glide, glide, spin. Pacing to and thro. Nervous movements somehow graceful despite their restless formlessness, their only pause during times where a lithe torso extended forward and down. The spine elongated through the stretch as the woman -would just for a moment -kiss the ice with her fingertips. Flushed cheeks and furrowed brow outlined by silken dark curls rebelling ever so slightly against the moisture in the boreal air. Helena could not take her eyes off the sight of the beautiful woman some 60 feet below her position in the shadows at the back of the raised stairs.

The climate in Univille's indoor ice rink bit at Helena's skin-she assumed it was normal (the invention of the an indoor iced enclosure being after her entry into the Bronze Sector), and pulled her thin cashmere jacket a little tighter to her body. She fruitlessly tried to rub the cold away as her eyes continued to follow the movements across the diameter of the rink. But as Myka's back and forth was born of nervousness and unrest, Helena found herself lulled by it into a trance-like state, or perhaps it was the enrapturing sight of Myka Bering herself and Helena's rare ability to let her focus linger on her that lulled Helena. Either way the older woman felt more relaxed than she had in a long time, perhaps since before Egypt and the chaos she'd reaped for herself. She allowed herself the indulgence of letting her mind wander.

As much as the new technological advances and inventions of this future often still astounded her, what truly awed Helena was the light the future was able to shine on the past. (An irony not lost on her.) She'd been one of the few women of her time to have the privilege to walk the halls of Oxford, to seek solace in books and ask questions without scorn. But back then the knowledge of the past was disjointed, littered by large gaps, and requiring much effort to gather. Now, she could type "Ancient Greece" into a Computer and spend hours pouring over a wide array of information and not even make a dent in the well of what was known.

And then, of course, there was the case of one Myka Ophelia Bering: the agent equal parts adorable and commanding that had beguiled her from the first time their eyes met over the barrel of a gun in her London Home. Myka who was as wise as she was handsome; a woman who had achieved a place that demanded respect in society, and had done so with a good heart – a virtue she had truthfully often overlooked in the past. Myka had excelled to so many heights Helena had been unable to attain.

Although she'd received honors on all her examinations- and incidentally managed to charm most of the professors, she, just like all of her gender, was denied the ability to graduate. Men had no longer feared women having the knowledge to question them, but instead of women having the ability and authority to act on those questions.

Her senior year she'd entered one of her inventions into an Inter-University competition. Having been told expressly by her professor that she was unable to enter due to her sex, that was the first time she'd used the nom de plume, H.G Wells. She'd left Oxford without a degree, but she had the last laugh in the form of a cash prize that funded the publishing of her first novel.

It was this unique calm that had fallen over her that gave her the confidence to finally approach the object of her thoughts. This was not an unusual occurrence regardless of whether she was in Myka's presence: the young woman was the specter that haunted her thoughts. Even when her mind was shrouded in darkness, when the madness of grief and her time in the bronze writhed and burned like mercury in her veins and pounded in her skull, thoughts of the woman still found her: like punctures through a blind letting small beams of light to illuminate the gloom.

She could identify the precise moment Myka spotted her; Helena's name formed on her lips but she was close enough to know there was no sound to accompany it. There was also a sudden hitch in her gait. Helena couldn't help but wonder how much of it was due to realizing she wasn't alone, and how much of it was because it was _she_ who interrupted the agent's solitude.

Helena stopped two feet away-or she intended to- she ended up sliding across the ice another half foot closer, she didn't have it in her to regret it.

Myka's mouth opened and closed a few times without forming words, eyebrows furrowing just a bit more each time her mouth fell shut. Helena wanted to say something to spare her the discomfort, but the wordsmith found herself ironically left without. Speaking with her was not part of Helena's plan. Not for the first time she pondered her inability to stick to plans where Myka was concerned.

Myka's voice cut her musings, "Where have you been H.G?" Her voice wasn't angry per say, but it held about as much warmth as their surroundings. Helena couldn't help but note the switch back to her initials with some remorse.

"I wish I could tell you." Helena infused the words with as much sincerity as she could, purposefully seeking to let her face react naturally rather than produce a response.

Myka's face softened slightly, and as much as she longed for the openness she had once seen on Myka's face, the artificer did not think she deserved it. She told herself she would continue to protect Myka in hope that one day she would, consciously ignoring the voice that told her that this act was no longer within her control but rather a compulsion.

The silence was heavier now, and Helena found her confidence dwindling. The longer she stood here the more exposed she felt, and truthfully she shouldn't be here at all. She had promised Mrs. Fredrick she would stay away and she was trying oh so hard to be good. She pivoted with a little less grace than she would have liked, and started her slightly off balance trek back to the edge of the ice.

"H.G... I," She heard Myka stumble forward before she saw it, and it was only because she had already been swerving back to the sound of her voice that she was able to reach her before her body hit the ice. Years of training in Kempo allowed her to fall with her forward momentum, sliding first on the flat of her boot and then on her knees. She caught Myka in an embrace just before she reached the surface of the ice.

Their faces were tilted towards each other and the warm tingle of the curly haired woman's breath against her chilled cheeks was a welcome relief. Desire ignited and churned to a low burn within her breast, and Helena found herself glad she could attribute her breathlessness to the suddenness of her movement and the adrenaline. Their chests were both heaving pressing ever so slightly together in the way that Myka was arranged in her arms. As both of their breathing began to slow, she couldn't help but notice as each inhale and exhale fell in sync. Helena could see the younger woman's increased heartbeat at her pulse point. She wondered if they continued to stay like this perhaps that too might fall into harmony. Eventually Helena felt herself being watched, and her eyes flickered up from the agent's neck to meet her questioning gaze,

"Did you have to go so suddenly?"

She could have lied; she was sorely tempted to blame it on the regents. The artificer was fairly certain Myka would still believe her – even when she had been at her most guarded back in Helena's days as a escapee of the bronze sector – the agent had always been remarkably gullible. But she was trying to change, the only way she kept the darkness out was by trying to be the woman Myka had seen in her – the woman Myka somehow still saw in her. That moment by the chessboard was one of her most treasured, sitting besides her memories of Christina in her heart.

"No," Helena felt herself biting her lip watching in fascination as Myka's pupils dilated and eyes flickered down down to momentarily fixate on her lips. The older woman's heart skipped a beat, and her body felt like every particle in her vibrated and itched her from the inside out to draw the woman ever closer. Within whatever was left of her soul if possible. She loved Myka Bering -that she'd known since the moment she'd thrown the Minoan Trident to the ground one strike short of well... making the rest of the world look very much like the ice rink in which she currently found herself. Even though she didn't feel she deserved to be loved, Helena supposed she at least ought to start acting like someone worthy of being loved, "I left abruptly because I was overwhelmed, that and I was a coward."

That adorable little wrinkle Myka got between her eyebrows when she was confused was back, and this close up the not unfamiliar desire to smooth out the lines with her lips was especially compelling. Only the ache of Helena's shame and the sickening feeling of admitting weakness kept her back.

Myka was guarded, her eyes frozen leaving Helena in the unique position of having eye contact and yet lacking any real connection. But Helena had found herself utilizing her life-long honed skills of reading body language and attention to detail on the agent since her first experience in the woman's presence.

At first it was to glean the advantage or insight required to find her way into the Warehouse. Then it was-she told herself- because she could use an ally as she advanced her plans. But soon she found herself watching simply because she couldn't... not watch, she had-quite against her will- become enchanted. Later and all too late she continued to watch with love. Soaking up every frown, fidget, or even-although she certainly hadn't deserved it – the rare smile, with love.

But now she was inexplicably back and due to a gratitude from a sacrifice unwritten from time and a chaos so dire it required _her_ aid, she found herself again in the trust of the Warehouse. It was getting awfully hard to squash the hope that now frequently attempted to flourish within her.

A hope that fed off the emotions she could currently see in Myka's eyes, gorged in the red (once the flush from the cold but now certainly a blush) dancing across Myka's cheeks, along the expanse of her neck and down until it fell below the hemline of the woman's sweater. A hope that relished the embrace that had started in necessity but had become decidedly more intimate.

Helena could feel the strong grip of Myka's hand around the bicep of the arm holding up her upper body, the other had originally been clenched in a fist against her stomach and between their bodies. At some point during the silence it had unfurled to lay flat against Helena's abdominals, which had the gall to flutter and clench beneath the woman's fingertips. She wondered if perhaps her reaction to Myka's proximity was just as apparent. Helena saw the left corner Myka's mouth quirk momentarily – just the shadow of a smirk – replaced with pursed lips and then the question Helena had been avoiding yet waiting for arrived,

"Why were you a coward Helena?" And it was because of their closeness; it was because she was Helena again instead of H.G; it was because of the hope that at once gripped her chest tight in a vice and yet left her feeling lighter: it was for all of these reasons the truth fell ardently and without censoring from her lips,

"Because I love you. I love you in a way I've never felt or read about or dreamt, an exhilarating and all-encompassing nirvana whose definition and intricacies are beyond my ability to even form the questions let alone seek the answers. And yet, I've erred beyond forgiveness, still find myself running from my darkness, and I'm loathe to admit it even to myself, but it's all absolutely terrifying." The last words fell from her lips in the form of a sigh, a whisper of a confession, but not lost on the other woman. For in their closeness, Myka could feel the words against her cheek.

**My muse loves feedback, **** and suggestions are always taken under advisement. There will definitely be a part two.**

**Oh, and if you sensed the women power, look at women's progress vibe … it's definitely there…I usually avoid politics in my stories but I couldn't help myself with women's rights being under such threat this election in the States.**

**If american, please vote this election (H.G would want you to), and everyone else- cross your fingers and spread the word to your american friends. **


End file.
